


A Crush

by dontworryaboutanything



Series: Abe [3]
Category: Who Killed Markiplier? - Fandom
Genre: Who Killed Markiplier?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 20:22:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13325811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontworryaboutanything/pseuds/dontworryaboutanything
Summary: Prompt: Maybe a fic about when Abe realizes he has a crush on the DA? Like he was denying it for so long but suddenly realizes his true feelings-A little late, he gets it.





	A Crush

**Author's Note:**

> So  
> I love this ship.

He couldn’t remember exactly how long ago it was that Damien had introduced him to the DA, but he did know that he owed the man a kick in the ass for it.

Ever since, you kept … waving. And smiling. In public. At him?  
Like you were friends.

And, well, maybe he brought you coffee that one time because you were falling asleep in your office with the door wide open, but that was only a professional courtesy. Maybe you caught him staring, once. Or twice. He just was trying to figure out what was with you.  
Definitely.

And maybe he asked Damien questions, once in awhile, about you. Not in a creepy way. Obviously. He was a detective, he was detecting. Investigating. Whatever.

He was pissed about it, really, more than he knew what to do with. You were just annoyingly friendly, to the point he couldn’t stop thinking about what the hell that meant.

“Maybe … hear me out, maybe our dear DA wants to be your friend?”  
Abe flipped Damien off.  
Damien yelled something about being mayor, laughing, that was cut off by Abe slamming the door.

When he was stuck sitting next to you at a diner, Damien demanding you all go out to eat together, he didn’t get that either. You’d slid in the booth next to him, and then didn’t say a word, buried your face in your menu. And what the hell? You could at least be the one to start conversation if you were going to act like you were besties all the damn time. And maybe he couldn’t look at you anyway, after he noticed you blush and you swatted him to look away with said menu, laughing and making him blink in surprise, but that wasn’t the point.

If you couldn’t be civil, he’d set the example, and he footed the bill. Like a downright gentlemen. He didn’t make eye contact with Damien on the walk back to the office.

 

When he’d catch you sitting with Damien alone, talking in sincere and soft voices, that was probably the worst of it. You could talk to him just fine, but not Abe? What an ass. If he didn’t approach you either, it was only fair play. What the hell could you have in common with the Mayor, anyway?  
And god, Damien, the dick, he had to make a fuss out of a simple question.

“Detective, the DA and I are old college friends, but we’re not-”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Then why do you care what we’re talking about?”

Abe tried three different lies but then Damien was smiling that smug little grin again and he had to leave before he broke something. And why would he assume Abe would care, if you were? Why even bring it up if not, though? What if you and he were hiding something?  
Whatever, though. Who cared?

He knew better than to care. He had to, by now.

But then, fuck, why did Mark invite you to that poker night? How did Mark even KNOW you?  
Damien, probably, but how close could you two even be with Mark being such a recluse the last few years? (How close?)

He could’ve pretended he didn’t know you. He did, most of the time.

Maybe he shouldn’t have drank so much that first night, though.  
You were a mess too, though.  
And maybe he was way closer than he needed to be, sometimes, during that party. Maybe his face was really close to yours and you maybe smelt good. Lips looked like you might taste good. People are weird when they’re drunk.

And maybe he blacked out and woke up with a sore fist and an aching vague regret and went to find you.  
And maybe he didn’t believe you because he believed you, when you said you were in bed that night, but because he remembers the vague haze of helping Damien get you there in one piece.  
And maybe it was too late to be thinking any of this, with how fucked up everything was.

He shouldn’t have called you his partner, he knew better, but damn it. He didn’t want to be alone. Why you, though, he didn’t know. 

When you went in the room with that Seer, he stood at the door with Damien, pacing and cursing under his breath, and Damien turned to him with concern. “The DA will be fine, I trust Celine.”

“More than you trust me.”

Damien cast his eyes downward, but nodded. Honest bastard. “She’s my-”

“Whatever, Damien.”

“She is my sister, Abe. I just- after you hit the DA at that party- you were so far out of it-”

And, fuck it if he could forgive that a little more than he wanted to. Damien knew William since childhood too. You were too … you, for Damien to suspect. And it wasn’t fair that left the suspicion on Abe, but fuck it if he could forgive that a little anyway. He didn’t trust anyone himself, anyway, it was fair enough. 

“I was drunk, Damien, so were you. You really think I’m capable of murdering my friend? You think I’d ever hurt the DA on purpose?”

Damien, at that, almost smiled. “Abe, have you even realized, yet?”

But Abe didn’t have time to ask him what the fuck that meant, because Celine was shouting at you, and he burst pushed Damien towards the door before he could stop himself.  
And you looked afraid, and Celine was doing who knows the fuck what, and you looked afraid, and you looked afraid, and he had to get you out of there.  
When Damien decided to stay in the house, he didn’t give you a chance to make the same choice, and it hit him right then like a blow to the chest.  
You stayed with him, even as afraid as you were.

And, fuck, he cared about you a lot, didn’t he? He didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed.  
And he wanted to protect you more than he knew how to, trusted you more than he meant to.  
And he cared so much. If it fucked him up, it was fine, because he cared. He was so angry that he cared, but he did, and that was all of it, really, wasn’t it?

If there was a chance at finding you, saving you, he knew he’d take it at once even before you were gone.

And Abe didn’t die.  
And neither did you, really.

And there, then, was (is) a chance.


End file.
